Wedg1e's Wanderings
Discussion
Looks like I've got a few busy weeks coming up :(
Next week working in Peterborough (actually Whittlesey), staying down there Tues-Thurs nights.
Anyone around for a yak and a beer?
Week after I've got St. Albans, 'a Govt. installation near Salisbury' and Worcester. Not sure which days or where I'm staying, but could be another night or two stuck in hotels.
Following week is bloody Dublin again...
Next week working in Peterborough (actually Whittlesey), staying down there Tues-Thurs nights.
Anyone around for a yak and a beer?
Week after I've got St. Albans, 'a Govt. installation near Salisbury' and Worcester. Not sure which days or where I'm staying, but could be another night or two stuck in hotels.
Following week is bloody Dublin again...
hustlebabe said:
'A govt installation near Salisbury'? Enjoy Porton Down. Very exciting place
He will have to wear one of those protective 'suits' there.
Sweat like fk
well they can't test on poor guinea pigs can they, they need some worthless human beings to test their chemical weapo..ooops I mean weed killer and shampoo
r988 said:
kennyGti said:
'A govt installation near Salisbury'? Enjoy Porton Down. Very exciting place
He will have to wear one of those protective 'suits' there.
Sweat like f
well they can't test on poor guinea pigs can they, they need some worthless human beings to test their chemical weapo..ooops I mean weed killer and shampoo
The place is well out in the sticks....so fk knows what they might test out on poor wedg1e
TypeR said:
Bugger my movements are almost exactly opposite. I'm just south of Whittlesea any time apart from Tuesday to Thursday and I owe you a beer or 10 for help on the Wedge.
Surely buggering your movements will be uncomfortable
Sure think wedg1e will def opt for the Porton Down potions now. Oh dear...a Teesider on the Wiltshire Downs....no hope of understanding of dialects going on there
Doh!! hustlebabe said:
Oh dear...a Teesider on the Wiltshire Downs....no hope of understanding of dialects going on there
Listen yur, young lady: oi'll put ee over moi knee, ee'll unnerstaand that, now won't ee?
Or in 'Teeside' (sic) speak:
Ow pal, a'll f***in' knack yer!
Right, pass the botulism and myxomatosis, I'm thirsty...
Eric Mc said:
Bloody Dublin??????????
Explain yourself young man.
I wouldn't bloody mind bloody Dublin so bloody much if I ever got to bloody see any of it!
As it is it's a mad 300-mile dash to somewhere unpronounceable in Wales to get a bone-shaker to somewhere even more unpronounceable in Eire.
Then do battle with the genetically-unable-to-drive inhabitants of the rabbit warren that makes up Baile atha Cliath until one happens, gleefully, upon the M50. Expecting to now make good progress 'twixt leprechaun and shamrock field, one is greeted with a piffling 50 mph limit. Middle-lane cretins abound in numbers undreamed-off on the mainland M1. Sozzled souls in crusty Volvos meander from armco to armco in a gentle rythm that speaks of the ambient pace of life, which is to say bloody frustrating when you have a job to do.
Eventually, wearily alighting upon the first of my clients, having now been travelling all bloody day, I am greeted by some incomprehensible security guard who, labouring under the misapprehension that I am a long-lost friend that could stand and listen to his soft Gaelic lilt for all eternity, will proceed to expound at great length on his wife's mother's sister's ingrowing bloody toenail.
By the time I complete a multitude of forms necessary to indemnify the world's airlines against any act of sabotage, industrial piracy, incompetence or sheer bloody-mindedness that I may commit, to say nothing of the essential 'Permit to work' AND hypothetically shown my non-existant Union card (that's TRADE union, not ULSTER union), I gain entry to the plant at about 7 in the evening AND THEN start my day's work.
Several hours of mind-numbing tedium ensue, during which I contemplate chucking it all in and opening a Scammell-wheel-nut refurbishing plant with The Excession, before retiring to Bewleys at Newlands Cross for a well-earned pint with a Powers chaser.
I may opt for a Chinese across the road, or an Indian takeaway, to be consumed whilst watching a rerun of the only time an Irish team ever won anything, ever.
The next two days are a joyous mix of working my bloody knackers off and dodging the shop steward (Union card? Oh yeah, sorry, it's in my other overalls).
Small respite is found in a haze of Murphys, Bushmills and Bewleys' excellent coffee... and ogling the backside on that improbably tall waitress thay have... the East European one who I'm sure I've seen in those flagellation films from Czechoslovakia.
Oh, and the subsidised staff canteen at one of the plants, which really should have a dormitory apppended as I could cheerfully nap after one of their monster servings. If I worked there permanently I'd be twenty stone. Rather like most of the staff, in fact.
And Irish TV, which is like English TV, except that Eastenders is far more entertaining with Mrs. Doyle and Father Jack's voices dubbed on.
With good luck and a fair wind I head north to Beal Fearst, to listen earnestly to the completely unintelligible babble from my contact there. He could be wishing me well, he could be telling me about some colleen's mother he shagged that had an ingrowing toenail, I really don't bloody know.
I wave the allegorical magic wand at their equipment and point the van at the Stena Line gates, steeled for the mad HSS dash across to Stranraer and the delights of the A75 back to civilisation.
Waiting for the boat, I gaze across the Lagan at the spot where the most famous ship ever, was built and note the creeping redevelopment. Transient entertainment complexes and starter industrial units won't make history. In the middle distance, the cranes at Harland's stand idle. One day, maybe soon, they may not stand at all; such is the way of engineering in this part of the world.
As I stand there I think to myself: 'Thank f*** I have a job, that I can come to bloody Ireland, and moan about it'.
wedg1e said:
M50 Middle-lane cretins abound in numbers undreamed-off on the mainland M1. Sozzled souls in crusty Volvos meander from armco to armco in a gentle rythm that speaks of the ambient pace of life, which is to say bloody frustrating when you have a job to do.
And then a crazy a$$ mother
r in a bright red Golf tdi roars up the inside oblivious to the law at 100mph. Flash your lights if you see me and I'll say hello
Where's this Mainland then?????
up-the-dubs said:
And then a crazy a$$ mother
Flash your lights if you see me and I'll say hello
Where's this Mainland then?????
I'll be the madman in the red Transit Connect waving a fist at you to get out of my way at 110, then...
To find the mainland, go to Douieane Leoaoughaieioarie and get on one of those new-fangled 'boats' and ask the nice man to drop you at Llachnffllddachochechichllddffwyrdach...
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